


Forever and Always

by poselikeateam



Series: Incubus Jaskier AUs [11]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Courting Rituals, Cultural Differences, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Episode Fix-It: s01e06 Rare Species, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Tries His Best, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Himbo Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Idiots in Love, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Incubus Jaskier | Dandelion, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion In Love, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion is Bad at Communicating, Lack of Communication, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Non-Explicit Sex, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Oblivious Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Trans Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:00:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26307454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poselikeateam/pseuds/poselikeateam
Summary: When Geralt finds out that Jaskier is part incubus, he offers himself as an easy meal, no strings attached, whenever the bard asks. It's fine, he tells himself. It's convenient. It hurts, because he loves Jaskier, and Jaskier doesn't,can'tlove him back, but it's fine.Turns out that they're not on the same page.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Incubus Jaskier AUs [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1778233
Comments: 35
Kudos: 956





	Forever and Always

They've had this arrangement for a while now. 

When Geralt and Jaskier first met, Geralt had assumed that the bard was simply human. He'd never questioned that assumption, because why would he? For one, why would a monster ever try to follow a witcher? Sure, it didn't make sense for a human to, either, but at least it would make more sense than any other creature. It had actually been, what, six years? They'd traveled together for a while, and though he'd rather fight an ekimmara bare-handed than admit it, Jaskier had become his best friend (after Eskel, of course). He enjoys the bard's company, even though he can be very annoying at times, not to mention his penchant for getting the both of them into trouble pretty regularly. 

It had gotten to the point where life without Jaskier was something he just couldn't see for himself anymore. He still tried to keep the bard at arm's length, just because he was so painfully human, and they die so quickly. It was already bad enough that he had these feelings. If he could just keep his distance, maybe they would go away. 

They didn't, of course. No matter what he did, they were always there, like a Jaskier-shaped weight in his chest. He hated it, and then he learned to live with it, and things were fine. There are no words for how fine it was, how fine it still is. These feelings are inconvenient, but nothing life-threatening. He can ignore it, just as he has been.

The thing is, a few years later... maybe three? Either way, a few years later, he'd found out, quite accidentally, that Jaskier is not as human as Geralt had previously thought. 

Of course he'd noticed Jaskier's habit of falling into others' beds. He'd just sort of assumed that that's how young, human men who are seeing the world for the first time are. Sure, the bard often made poor decisions, putting his sausage in others' pantries. Yes, it got them both run out of towns pretty often, and yes, Geralt had to save the other man from the consequences of his own damned poor decisions. Again, Geralt had assumed that it was because he was young, dumb, and full of— 

Anyway. 

What might have been somewhere around a decade into their companionship, he noticed something... different. At first, he wasn't sure what it was, but then he realised that Jaskier wasn't talking, nor was he playing his lute, humming, writing, _anything_. He was sitting on the ground, subdued, and Geralt didn't like it one bit, because it meant that something was very wrong. 

"Jaskier," he said, and the bard looked up at him, startled, as if he'd forgotten Geralt was there altogether. He knew that he should have finished that thought, should have had some kind of follow up, but suddenly, he really didn't know what to say. 'Are you ill'? 'You're quiet'? Eventually, he settled on, "What's wrong?" because it seemed safe. 

"Just feeling a little under the weather," Jaskier answered with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. 

And then Geralt noticed.

It wasn't just the way Jaskier was acting. His scent had changed too. He smelled like the embers of a dying fire, like the musk of a man desperate for a night of passion, like heat and the sting of hot peppers. 

"You weren't going to tell me you're an incubus?" was the next thing out of his mouth, because he had never been any good at gently and tactfully broaching difficult topics. 

Jaskier flinched, and the citrusy scent of regret tinged the edges of his incubus pheromones. 

"I'm not," he answered. "I mean, I am, but only partly. And you... well, you never asked."

There were a lot of things that Geralt could have said in that moment. In the end, he settled on, "No, I guess I didn't."

What followed was an awkward silence, the kind that has only ever rarely been allowed to exist in Jaskier's presence. Somehow, their arrangement had come about from it. Geralt had suggested that he could take care of it, and Jaskier had balked at the idea. Geralt pretended that it didn't hurt as much as it did, or at all — after all, he had known that if he ever propositioned Jaskier, it would result in rejection. It's one of the many reasons he'd never bothered. Sure, the bard has always flirted with him, but that’s only because that’s what Jaskier is like. He’s not serious about it; why would someone like Jaskier _ever_ want someone like Geralt?

Still, desperate times call for desperate measures, and the fact of the matter was that, at the time, Jaskier was hurting, and sleeping with Geralt was the only way to fix that. He tried to explain that they were in the middle of the woods, with no town around for at least another two days, and Jaskier was already clearly not feeling well. They talked a bit back and forth, and Geralt can't really remember the finer details of the conversation. It was awkward, and he'd done his best to just banish it from his memory altogether as soon as it was over and done with. 

Somehow, they'd come to the agreement that if Jaskier was ever wanting — whether he forgot to meet his own needs again, like he had this time, or they spent too long in the wilderness, or on the off chance that he simply couldn't find anyone to sleep with — he could ask Geralt. 

For some reason, he'd had to assure Jaskier up, down, and sideways that yes, he really _was_ willing and yes, he _would_ say no if he ever wasn't in the mood when Jaskier asked. Of course he's willing, and of course he won't have any trouble being in the mood if Jaskier asks for his... help. It was true then, it's true now, and it will probably be true until their arrangement ends, one way or another. 

While he can't remember that conversation, he can remember the sex that came after. He vividly remembers sinking down on Jaskier's lap, that cock splitting him open, filling him so perfectly for what would be the first time of many. He remembers the heat, the near-feral energy of their coupling. He remembers every noise the bard made, remembers Jaskier eating him out afterwards like Geralt’s cunt was the best meal he’d ever had. He remembers coming again and again until he couldn’t feel his damned legs. 

Yes, he had wanted to help his friend, but there was more to it. His motives were mostly selfish, of course. This is the only way he can have Jaskier, the only way he can come close to what he really wants. It's more than he ever thought he'd get. Even if they only had that one time together, it would be enough. 

Only, well... it hadn't been the only time. No, far from it. This became a very regular thing, right up until he met Yennefer. Maybe Jaskier had been sleeping with him out of pity, or because it was more convenient and safe than finding someone else. Either way, when Geralt and Yennefer became attached by his stupid wish, Jaskier backed off entirely. 

It’s no secret that Jaskier hated Yennefer from the beginning, though Geralt has never been entirely sure why. He remembers sleeping with her, even if he can’t remember exactly why he’d done it — but he doesn’t remember Jaskier being there. Even if the bard was somehow aware of it, surely he wouldn’t care. After all, he and Geralt weren’t a couple, they weren’t exclusive in any way. Theirs was a partnership of convenience, where sex was concerned. 

So, Geralt started sleeping with Yennefer regularly. If Jaskier didn’t want him, he wasn’t going to force it. They were only doing this so that Jaskier could feed himself, after all, so it felt like crossing some kind of boundary to ask about it, to say anything. They still traveled together, they were still friends, but… things were different. That ache, that Jaskier-shaped weight in his chest turned into a Jaskier-shaped void that he tried to fill with a Yennefer-shaped block. 

The sex was good, but she wasn’t what he wanted.

They were never a good couple. Somehow, though, they always kept finding each other. Well, he knew _how_. He just never told her, until one day on the top of a mountain after an ill-fated dragon hunt. 

Of course, she’d not taken it well. He’d known that she wouldn’t, but it still hurt. He’d felt like he lost so much, and then there was Jaskier, awkwardly trying to cheer him up, but it all felt like… like if Jaskier hadn’t pulled away, he never would have been so invested in his terrible relationship with Yennefer. And he knew it was ridiculous, and he couldn’t just _say_ that, so he just blamed Jaskier for _everything else_. It was like he was watching some cruel creature that he couldn’t stop from taking his face and ruining the only real good thing he’d ever had. 

And Jaskier left.

Geralt was alone, fuming, for maybe fifteen minutes before his own words hit him like a golem’s fist to the sternum. And then he’d run after Jaskier, faster than he’d run in a long time, and nearly knocked the both of them off of a fucking cliff when they collided. He’d held the bard tight in his arms and pressed his face to Jaskier’s neck and apologised. If he could still cry, he would have been, and it came through in his voice. 

It was cruel, it was wrong, he didn’t mean it, he shouldn’t have said it, he was so, so sorry. And Jaskier, slowly, hugged him back. 

After that, they started sleeping together again.

Geralt never tried to get back together with Yennefer. They became pretty good friends, when she’d calmed down, but the attempts at romance were long gone. 

“What will you do when she forgives you?” Jaskier had asked one night as they lay together, naked and sweaty and utterly spent, in the bed they’d rented for the night. Geralt knew that he was talking about Yen, despite the time that had passed since they’d last breached the topic. 

“What do you mean?” he asked anyway. “What’s there to do?”

“I mean,” the bard said, not quite looking him in the eye, “will you go back to her?”

Geralt scoffed. “Not likely.”

“Oh. Why?”

He shrugged and said, “Why would I?” 

And that was the end of that.

It’s been at least twenty years since then. Geralt still hasn’t stopped loving Jaskier. He probably never will. It’s just something he needs to get used to. Geralt doesn't sleep with other people. He doesn't need to. He can have Jaskier, no charge, no judgment, just the comforting familiarity of a warm body and a long friendship. It should be enough, more than enough. 

It's not. 

Because, fuck, he should have known better. He should have known that he couldn't have just part of Jaskier and be content. The sex is great, and that's a fucking understatement if there ever was one, but there's just something Geralt can't stand about it. There's something about knowing that once Jaskier takes his fill, it all just goes back to normal. They are only friends. Geralt should be content with it, because he doesn't even deserve that much, but he's selfish and greedy and all he wants is for the love he feels to be returned. 

And he knows, he _knows_ it’s pathetic. He would absolutely just _stop_ if he could, and it isn’t like he hasn’t tried. Loving Jaskier is just part of his life now. And look, he’d be fine — more than fine — if there were some clearer lines and boundaries between them, if their relationship was more well-defined. He can’t just sit on the precipice of _fuck buddies_ , looking down into the yawning gap of _lovers_ , a theoretical short leap that looks like a chasm miles deep. 

He has to end it. 

Fuck, while he's always known that things would have to end between them, he'd never thought it would get this far. He just can't _do this_ anymore. Jaskier isn't sleeping with other people, hasn't been for a while, and it's... it's too much. It's too close to what he wants, teasing him with a taste of something he can never truly have.

Last night, a barmaid had propositioned the bard with an almost shocking forwardness. And before Geralt knew what was happening, Jaskier was politely and firmly turning her down, one hand on Geralt's thigh the entire time. It sat just above his knee, nothing more than a presence, but somehow as heavy as a boulder and hot as a brand.

That was when he realised that he couldn't keep doing this.

How much longer could he make this dream last? How much more could he ask for? No, this has gone on long enough. He needs to end it now, or he's never going to have the— the strength, the courage. He's not a young man by any means. He'll get over it, eventually. He'll move on. Jaskier will probably be upset at losing his easy meals but somehow Geralt knows he won't hold it against him.

As he thinks ( _broods_ , Jaskier would say), the bard's arms wrap around his shoulders, little kisses pressed to his temples. "What's wrong, love?" 

And it's so gentle, and kind, and sweet, and that _word_ — Geralt can't handle it, not when he knows that this is the last time he's ever going to be on the receiving end of this kind of affection. 

So he takes Jaskier's wrists and, gently, pulls him away. "We can't keep doing this."

He doesn't want to look at Jaskier, doesn't want to lose his resolve. He can smell the hurt and confusion, and he's wondering how he's managed to fuck it all up in five words. 

"I..." Jaskier seems at a lost for words, and it would be amusing under any other circumstance. "I thought... Is there something I've done?" he asks. 

Geralt shakes his head. "No. I'm sorry, I just. I can't."

"Oh." It sounds so quiet and broken and unlike Jaskier that Geralt, for one brief, wild moment, almost takes it all back right then and there. "May I ask why?"

"Just... don't feel the way you do," Geralt answers with a shrug. He's hoping he doesn't have to explain further, hoping that Jaskier will take the damn hint, hoping that he hasn't just ruined everything between them.

He's actually surprised when he smells a sudden _anger_ coming from Jaskier, and he looks up to see him glaring at nothing. 

"Yeah, great," the bard mutters, then laughs mirthlessly, angrily. "That's just... great. Fan-fucking-tastic way to call off a fucking engagement, well done."

And he's so confused, so thrown off-kilter by this whole mess, that Geralt blurts out, "You're engaged?"

Jaskier whips his gaze to Geralt so quickly that the witcher half-worries that he's given himself whiplash. There's a long, tense moment where the both of them just stare at one another, Geralt increasingly bewildered and Jaskier looking like he's trying to decipher an old, smudged text. Finally, after a fucking _eternity_ , Jaskier very slowly says, "Geralt, what _exactly_ do you think this is between us?"

And he doesn't know how to answer that, really. "We were... fucking," he answers, deciding to stay on the safe side and state the obvious.

"Yes, and?" 

Geralt hesitates. He doesn't know how to answer that prodding, really. His lack of surety must take too long for the bard's liking, or happen to answer whatever he'd been trying to ask, because Jaskier gives him this _look_ like everything's just suddenly fallen into place, and he sinks into the chair next to him with a long, low groan. 

"Geralt, darling, I think we skipped a very important conversation, somewhere down the line," he says. Now Jaskier is the one avoiding eye contact as he adds, "But first... I need to state, apparently, that I am very much in love with you."

He says it so casually, like it's just part of life, as though it hasn't just rocked Geralt's world like he's on a boat too close to where Lambert's decided to go "fishing". It doesn't make any _sense_.

Before this conversation that they've apparently skipped (and for fuck's sake, now Geralt _really_ feels like they've skipped a fucking conversation or two) they argue a little, back and forth, about whether Jaskier _can_ feel that way. He's offended, because of course he is. Offended at the insinuation that he doesn't know what he feels, that Geralt is not worthy of his love, that Geralt doesn't believe him, that it wasn't obvious. He says things like, "Do you think I would have followed you through swamps and danger and _Velen_ for no reason?" and, "Geralt, dear heart, you must be as dense as your muscles, which are _very_ attractive by the way but I won't let you distract me with them this time," and, "I have literally written _sonnets_ about your arse, Geralt, are you fucking _kidding_ me?" 

Then, _finally_ , Jaskier explains.

"See, well, I may have a bit more incubus blood than I'd previously implied," he starts, and Geralt snorts.

"It's obvious," he assures him, and Jaskier _harrumphs_. 

"Well, to a witcher, maybe," he grumbles. He seems to debate with himself for a moment and Geralt, knowing his thought process well enough by now (despite the thoughts themselves often being impossible to follow), gives him the time to think, uninterrupted. He finally heaves a deep sigh and says, "Look, I'm half, alright? My mother's a succubus. Usually they don't... well, they don't _stick around_. But she _loves_ my dad, and he loves her, and they never... it didn't matter to them. Mum can hide her hooves under her skirts, you know? So she was... around. To raise me. Teach me about her— _our_ kind. Our culture."

Jaskier runs a hand through his own hair and laughs, and it's a high, nervous sound, rather than his actual laughter. "We, that is to say my mother's kind, have our own rules around courting and marriage. At first, I didn't want to sleep with you because of how I felt. I didn't think I could handle it, you know? But I was so hungry, and you were so willing, and I couldn't... I'm _weak_ , Geralt, I'm so weak for you, you _must_ see it. 

"The last thing I wanted was a pity fuck, you know? But, silly as it sounds, I knew you wouldn't respect me any less afterwards. I knew that you wouldn't let things _change_ between us, not just because of that. And I thought it would be the last time, the first and last, a taste of true pleasure that I could never again have. But I thought, fuck it, why not? And when I propositioned you again, you didn't say no. You _never_ said no, but if you did, I wouldn't have—"

"I know," Geralt says, because he does, and he doesn't want Jaskier to be any more flustered than he already is. It's hard enough to follow his train of thought already. 

The bard sighs, a sharp exhale through his nose, and says, "Right. Yes. So, I stopped sleeping with other people, and you did the same, so I thought you _knew_."

"Knew _what?"_ he all but demands. He's still missing some vital information and he would really like to have it now, please and thank you.

Jaskier looks him in the eye now, and Geralt couldn't look away if he tried. They're so blue, he thinks, he might drown in them. "Geralt," he says with a gravity that the witcher can almost _feel_ , "When succubi and incubi sleep with one person more than others, they consider it a committed relationship. When we only sleep with one person, that's as good as a betrothal. I thought we were _engaged_."

And it all hits Geralt at once. Jaskier doesn't _have_ to explain the rest, because Geralt understands. He's shocked, and kind of _horrified_ because that means that, "So when I slept with Yen..."

"I thought you were breaking it off," Jaskier whispers, and Geralt can still hear the _pain_ in his voice — or, rather, he can hear it for the first time now that he knows to listen, but it's _still there_ and it's _his_ fault and he _hates_ himself for it. 

It all falls into place, the pieces slotting together with a sudden, dizzying clarity. Jaskier saw them together, and he thought that Geralt was breaking off their engagement. That's why he stopped propositioning him, why he backed off entirely for all that time, why they started sleeping together again after what happened on the mountain. Jaskier thought that Geralt had scorned him, and come back to him, and he _took him back_ with no hesitation. 

They've been engaged for more than two decades, and Geralt had no idea.

"Why didn't you say anything?" he asks. It's not an accusation, but Jaskier still flinches just a little, still looks away. Geralt wants to apologise, but he sees the flush creeping up his bard's face and realises that he's not upset, he's _embarrassed_.

"I didn't want to scare you off," he admits somewhat sheepishly, fidgeting in his seat. He clears his throat once, and then adds, "By our customs, you were... the one being courted. And the one being courted is the one to decide when the actual wedding takes place. So I thought you were... I don't know, not ready? I was waiting for—"

"Then let's do it."

They stare at one another, Jaskier in shock, and Geralt with a healthy mix of embarrassment and determination.

"I'm sorry?"

"You said it's up to me to say when we're ready to get married?"

"Yes, but—"

"And we've been engaged for more than twenty years now?"

"Well, techni—"

"Then let's get married."

"Geralt," Jaskier says slowly, "you didn't know we were engaged until a few minutes ago."

And that's true, but it's not like he hasn't dreamt of it. It's not like he hasn't, in his weaker moments, wished for a world where it could happen. It's not like he hasn't wanted something like this for longer than he's willing to admit. 

Jaskier isn't trying to dissuade him, but he does want to make sure Geralt isn't just doing this on a whim, or trying to placate him, or make some tragically confusing show of bravado. Geralt assures him that he is not. 

It isn't a big ceremony. They don't really invite anyone. They get directions to the nearest mage, have their hands and fates tied together, and that's that. It's nothing big or fancy — they can put something together later, because Jaskier loves parties and Geralt loves when he's happy — but it's fine. They've waited long enough.


End file.
